


Moments Lost, Moments Found

by bookscorpion



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Ficlets, Fluff and Angst, Geraskier Ship Week 2020, M/M, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:35:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25685902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookscorpion/pseuds/bookscorpion
Summary: Ficlets I wrote for theGeraskier Ship WeekDay 7: MemoryJaskier sits down heavily on the floor. It isn't an activity particularly recommended for a man of his age, and his joints protest. But he doesn't pay them any mind.A silver wolf's head medallion.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 38
Kudos: 69
Collections: Geraskier Ship Week 2020





	1. Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Check AN for Content Notes!

Finally. 

Finally there is silence. 

No one around for miles. The only sounds the neverending song of the cicadas, a few birds calling, the wind in the trees. The soft clop of Roach's hooves on the pine needle covered path, the creak of leather when Geralt shifts in the saddle.

No one to talk at him, make demands of him. No one who needs to be watched over constantly so they don't fall off a mountain or wander off to stumble into the most ridiculous situations. No one to pluck at the strings of a lute, the noise grating enough to intrude even on Geralt's meditation. And no one to sing ridiculous songs that have at best a nodding acquaintance with the truth.

Silence.

Nothing to distract Geralt from his own thoughts. From his anger at himself for fucking up not just with Yen, but with Jaskier too. There was nothing to take his mind away from Yen's anger at him, and nothing to take it away from the stricken look on Jaskier's face.

Yen - undoing that will take nothing short of a small miracle, or another djinn. Geralt is noticeably lacking in both.

But Jaskier. It had been so satisfying in the moment to lash out at him. To say exactly what he had thought many times over, to throw it in Jaskier's face in the worst way possible. Seeing Jaskier speechless, stuttering to find words, fingers twitching in half-formed helpless gestures had only fanned the flames of Geralt's rage. 

Now, the memory of both of them sours whatever peace he has hoped to find. There is no longer any refuge or solace to be found in the silence. 

With an exasperated growl, Geralt realises he is _lonely_. He misses Jaskier, and no wish and no magic is causing it. The longing for Yen, that is something a lot more complicated. Something that he needs to solve, but not now. Right now, Jaskier is at the forefront of his mind.

Finding Yen will be exceedingly hard. Finding Jaskier— At least he cannot use portals. How hard can it be to find a bard. Who are by definition not quiet, or stealthy. Loud and flashy is what they _are_.

Geralt hopes Jaskier hasn't stumbled into a nest of nekkers, or found something even more dreadful to die of. He's far less helpless than Geralt would ever give him credit for out loud, but he is no fighter.

Turning Roach around, Geralt hurries back the way he came. Paying only the minimum amount of attention to his path, he tries to come up with words that will make Jaskier forgive him. Listen to him, even that would be a start. 

By the time Geralt has found and followed Jaskier's tracks to a run-down inn in some miserable village, he has composed and discarded so many words, Jaskier would be able to make at least five ballads out of them. Geralt can't even fit together one apology.

Jaskier sits in a corner, behind a tankard of cider and some half-eaten cheese and bred. He looks up as Geralt approaches and his face goes blank. Geralt can almost hear all the gates fall shut with a loud echoing clank.

He still has no idea what to say. 

"I'm sorry. I should not have said any of this." It's very definitely Geralt's own voice, and his lips move, so it is probably him talking. His mind, however, is still completely empty.

Jaskier leans back and looks him up and down for a long, silent moment. Then he gestures to the bench opposite himself.

"Go on."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst and Fluff in this one, set after the mountain


	2. The First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The first time Jaskier and Geralt rent a house together, they nearly end up murdering each other._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Notes:  
> uuh - people failing hard at healthy communication (but learning)

The first time Jaskier and Geralt rent a house together, they nearly end up murdering each other.

It turns out that travelling together for years has done nothing to prepare them for this. Jaskier has known Geralt steals blankets and is awake at an ungodly time every morning. Geralt has known Jaskier leaves his clothes lying around and hates doing dishes. They both are aware the other one snores.

Geralt learns not to let Jaskier go to the market because he will come back with all manner of expensive delicacies but nothing much that can be turned into a proper meal. Every time he stumbles over one of Jaskier's shirts or pants, tossed haphazardly in the direction of a chair, he grits his teeth and says nothing.

Jaskier surreptitiously wipes down mugs and plates when it had been Geralt's turn to wash up because nothing feels clean enough to him. Every time Geralt bounds out of bed when it is barely daybreak to practice his forms downstairs in what feels the loudest manner possible, he wants to yell at him how anyone can make such a racket swinging a sword.

At the end of the second week, they snap at each other over nothing much. It turns into a screaming fight in a matter of a few ill chosen cutting remarks on both sides. Jaskier ends up staying out drinking with Zoltan all night. When he comes home, Geralt isn't around. He has left a letter on the table saying that he has been called away on a contract and will be back in a few days.

For a moment, Jaskier stares at the note. Then he crumples it up and throws it. It's not very satisfying, the paper bounces lightly off the wall. Doing all the dishes is more satisfying, slamming pots and pans down, mumbling angrily at the dishwater. By the time he is done, Jaskier's anger has settled, too. He ends up gathering all his clothes, too, and takes them to the washerwoman around the corner.

When he comes back, late in the afternoon, the house smells like fried mushrooms and onions. Geralt's swords and armour are on the stand where they belong. Jaskier walks into the kitchen to find Geralt there, stirring something in a pot. 

"I'm sorry." They both say it, easily and with relief at getting to say it. 

"Can we start over? Shouldn't have left like this. Turned Roach around by midday." Geralt leans against the table, fiddling with the spoon he used for stirring. 

Jaskier takes it out of his hands and leans into him. "I shouldn't have called you a sloven. Or a boor. I cleaned up my clothes. You were right, it was a mess."

Over dinner, they talk it over. Promise to do better. Jaskier offers to do the dishes, Geralt agrees to take care of the trips to the market. Geralt promises to take his training outside or at least wait until Jaskier is awake, and Jaskier makes plans to buy another chest for his clothes. The snoring they will both have to live with.

It's hard _work_. And not work either of them is used to. But they put in the effort because the rewards are worth it. Sharing a space. Being able to walk into a room and find the other. 

Being together.


	3. Backstage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Geralt almost choked on his beer, and looked like he wanted to run, but Jaskier had him cornered already. He held out Reinmar's costume. At least it would fit Geralt, and didn't feature any hoses or feathered caps. Geralt would just have to live with the doublet._  
>  The show must go on, and sacrifices have to be made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content notes:  
> Fluff.

Jaskier closed his eyes for a moment. Around him, the whole troupe bustled and shouted, made last minute corrections to costumes and backdrops. It was chaos, but in a short while, everything would fall into place and turn into a flawless performance.

Except it wouldn't.

When Volker had accidentally punched a hole in the Toussaint backdrop last night, ruining it beyond repair, Jaskier had thought that it had been a nightmare. But they had improvised and no one in the audience had really noticed.

But they would for sure notice the absence of Reinmar who had slipped and fallen _right outside the door_ and twisted his ankle badly. His wasn't a big role, but an important one. And everyone else was too busy with their own, most of them already part of several acts.

Opening his eyes again, Jaskier's eyes met Geralt's. Who was sitting in the most quiet corner he could find, sipping a beer and watching Jaskier.

In his desperation, Jaskier made a snap decision.

"Geralt!"

Geralt almost choked on his beer, and looked like he wanted to run, but Jaskier had him cornered already. He held out Reinmar's costume. At least it would fit Geralt, and didn't feature any hoses or feathered caps. Geralt would just have to live with the doublet.

"No." Geralt got up, but Jaskier stood his ground.

"Please? You have been watching this for the last two weeks, I _know_ you know the words. It's just one song. Please." Jaskier looked up at Geralt with wide eyes.

"Why don't you do it." Geralt inched around Jaskier, and stopped to let a gaggle of dancers pass, the first number of the evening. 

Jaskier used the chance to get in front of Geralt again. "Because the magic of theatre can only do so much and I am not the type. You, however, are. And I know you can sing, don't you dare tell me you can't. Now get dressed. Don't make me result to blackmail."

"I'm not singing. Not in your cabaret, and not anywhere else. I'm a witcher, not a performer." Geralt dropped his voice to a growl, and scowled at Jaskier. It would have worked but Jaskier was desperate.

"Fine. You leave me no choice." Jaskier drew himself up to his full height, staring right back at Geralt. "You either sing, or I will tell Zoltan about the incident involving you, the Countess Viona and the distressed weasel."

The look of betrayal on Geralt's face almost made Jaskier regret this. Almost.

"You wouldn't." Geralt clearly wasn't sure. For once on his life, Jaskier recognised when it was better to not say anything, and simply held Geralt's gaze. They both knew that Zoltan couldn't keep a secret to save his life, especially not one as tasty as this.

He almost shouted _YES_ when Geralt snatched the costume from his arms, an attractive blush colouring his cheeks. The ladies in the audience would appreciate that, Jaskier was sure. A not small number of men, as well. 

Geralt leaned in close, speaking directly into Jaskier's ear. "You will pay for this. Later."

He turned away to find a place to get changed, leaving Jaskier standing in the middle of the chaos. The show would go on. The only problem Jaskier had now was his sudden, highly visible excitement at the thought of what Geralt would make him do to pay for this. And the fact that he needed to be out on stage _right now_. Thank the gods for codpieces.


	4. Travel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jaskier couldn't wait to be inside city walls again. To see only cobblestones beneath his feet and no mud that conspired with tree roots to make him slip. To have the only water on his skin be the hot bath he had paid for, not a torrential rain trying to drown him._  
>  Day 4: Travel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more fluff

Jaskier was tired. His feet hurt, he was wet all over and he could have sworn his lute had been growing heavier all day. He made a mental note to ask Geralt, when he saw him next time, if there were imps or something that sat on tired bards' instruments to make them heavy just to fuck with said bard.

Three more days until Oxenfurt. Three more days without a bath, a decent meal and a roof over his head. Yes, of course there were inns and taverns. But it was not the same. Jaskier couldn't wait to be inside city walls again. To see only cobblestones beneath his feet and no mud that conspired with tree roots to make him slip. To have the only water on his skin be the hot bath he had paid for, not a torrential rain trying to drown him.

He trudged on, at this point too tired and too sorry for himself to even try to avoid the puddles on the path. There was an abandoned hut somewhere ahead with what he remembered to be a reasonably sturdy roof and a working hearth. It was looking incredibly attractive in his memory.

***

Geralt hunched over in the saddle, rain streaming down his face and in little rivulets from his hair. Roach turned her head to nose at his leg and gave him a look Geralt clearly recognised as an accusation. 

'Yes, yes. I know. The weather's shit, and you want to be somewhere warm. I'm just a witcher, I can't change the weather. But I have some apples for you, later.' He gave her a pat to the neck, wet fur under his palm.

Roach snorted and shook her mane, showering Geralt with droplets from below.

***

Jaskier had gotten a meagre fire going in the hearth with some wood a kind soul had gathered and left in the hut. It had guilted him into gathering some of his own, for the next person. Dinner had been some bread and cheese, toasted and melted over the fire, and a wrinkled apple made much more edible by baking it in the embers.

The roof didn't leak. Much. At least not over the wobbly cot Jaskier had spread his bedroll on, after pushing the mice-infested straw to the ground. It wasn't much but it sure beat sleeping out in the woods. 

Just two more days. Jaskier fell asleep with that thought.

He woke from the sounds of hooves, sitting bolt upright. Untangling himself from the blanket, he scrabbled for the dagger in his pack. Just his luck, the one ruin of a hut he chose to sleep in and some murderous bandit or other had to pick it. 

Jaskier remained completely still, listening for footsteps that didn't come. The stranger had led his horse to what was left of the stable. Maybe he had chosen to stay with the beast.

The door scraped open and Jaskier scrambled to get up on his feet, dagger held in front of him. 

Moonlight felt on white hair, cat's eyes shining.

All his breath left Jaskier in a huge gasp. "Geralt! Fucking hells, you couldn't have call out? You _knew_ I was here, don't tell me you didn't!"

Geralt looked sheepish. It melted a good part of Jaskier's anger.

"I- Um, I thought you had recognised me. Or Roach. I'm sorry." 

Jaskier sat back down on the cot, a little more heavily than he had planned. His knees were still shaking. "It may come as a surprise to you, but most people cannot tell one horse from the other by ear. And might I remind you that you are a _witcher_? We mere mortals cannot hear your steps."

For all his bluster, he was delighted to see Geralt. He had missed him terribly. They had agreed to meet up in Oxenfurt, but Jaskier wasn't about to complain about two extra days.

Geralt still stood in the door, watching Jaskier with his head to one side. There was a certain predatory look in his eyes that made Jaskier shiver.

"Well? Are you going to stand there all night, or are you going to make it up to me? It's horribly cold in here. I could use a witcher in my bed. You're always warm." Jaskier patted the wood next to himself.

Geralt pushed the door close behind himself. He hadn't expected to find Jaskier here. Seeing him sit there, hair tousled and clothes in disarray, gone from ready to stab Geralt to inviting him to bed in a moment, reminded Geralt just why he enjoyed Jaskier's company so much. 

A lot of people thought Jaskier flippant and shallow. And for a while, Geralt had thought that as well. But he had learned better. Jaskier used his flippancy to fight his fear, and he did it well. Geralt had grown a deep appreciation for this kind of courage.

Dropping his saddle bags next to Jaskier's pack, Geralt unbuckled his armour. "Can't have you freeze. Move over."

Huddled together under the blankets, Geralt pulled Jaskier towards himself, arms wrapped around him. Even after who knows how long on the road, Jaskier smelled quite pleasantly, and Geralt buried his nose in Jaskier's hair. He never dared dwell too much on how much he missed Jaskier's company when they were apart. How big of a hole Jaskier's absence left in his life. Now that they were together, warmth flooded all the empty spaces.

"Thank you for not stabbing me to death." Geralt smiled, giving Jaskier a squeeze.

"You are welcome." The smile in Jaskier's voice was clearly audible. Geralt stayed awake while Jaskier grew heavy in his arms, content to doze and listen to Jaskier's slow, deep breaths.


	5. The Last Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5: The Last Time  
>  _The last time Geralt and Jaskier had followed a strange noise in the wood, it had been a pack of ghouls._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Notes:  
> animal death  
> fluff  
> purposefully bad poetry, please don't try to actually sings this to the melody of The Drowned Lovers

The last time Geralt and Jaskier had followed a strange noise in the wood, it had been a pack of ghouls. 

This time, it is a kitten. 

Geralt grumbles but he climbs down the river bank and wades into the water to grab the burlap sack the kitten is clinging to. Inside are five more, but they are all dead. 

The last one is all wet, its fur plastered to its tiny body, but it clings to Geralt's arm with all the strength it can muster while they make their way back onto firm land. 

Geralt holds it out to Jaskier who takes it and after a moment of silence for his doublet, cradles it in his arm. 

'Keep it warm. Dry it off.' Geralt stalks over to Roach and gets in the saddle, leaving Jaskier with the soaked kitten. It tries to burrow into Jaskier's arm already, looking for warmth.

'And where are you going?' Jaskier shouts it at Geralt's back, exasperated and a little scared because Geralt looks murderous. More than usual. The answer that comes back to him sounds a lot like _Goat milk._ which Jaskier supposes makes sense.

At least it wasn't _to punch whoever didn't have the balls to at least give the kittens a quick death._

'Well. You are cuter than the ghouls.' And the kitten really is cute. Jaskier isn't much of an animal person, but he cannot deny it. It's reddish fur fluffs up when he rubs it dry very gently, and it looks at him attentively with enormous blue eyes. 

They wait for Geralt to come back, as close to the fire as they can sit, the kitten asleep in Jaskier's lap. He checks on it periodically to make sure it hasn't died. Who knows how kittens work, Jaskier doesn't, but he knows that being throw in a river and having no food for a long time is not ideal.

When Geralt comes back, he looks less murderous. Jaskier doesn't ask, only watches as Geralt pulls out a stoppered flask and one of the blunt copper needles he uses for his potions. 

'I hope you cleaned that.' Fascinated, Jaskier watches as Geralt takes the kitten in one hand, fingers supporting its head, and lets it lick at the needle, holding the other side closed with a finger. The kitten picks up the idea in no time.

'Why would I clean it. I'm giving it milk and alghoul spinal fluid, and I even stopped at the herbalist to get some mistletoe. It will grow twice as fast, and it will have spikes.' Geralt doesn't even look up from his task.

Jaskier is astounded. So many words at once, and they are even a joke. 

He thinks.

He cradles his lute the way he cradled the kitten and picks at the strings while Geralt patiently feeds the kitten until it falls asleep. Quietly, so as not to wake it and knowing Geralt can hear him perfectly, Jaskier sings under his breath. Not a song he ever plans to sing out loud, but it's only for Geralt's ears anyway.

_The rushing in the Pontar's water  
Would have feared five hundred men  
But not the Witcher brave and bold  
His life he risks for a kitten sweet_

A heel of bread hits him in the head, but gently. In a practiced motion, Jaskier catches it on the rebound and eats it. 

'I didn't risk my life, stop exaggerating.' Geralt growls at him, but it loses a bit of its effect by the fact that he is petting the kitten. 

'It is my job to exaggerate on your behalf and you know it.' Putting the lute aside, Jaskier comes to sit with Geralt and strokes a finger between the kitten's ears. It gives a huge yawn, answered by both of them. 

When they bed down for the night, the kitten takes Jaskier's usual place in Geralt's arms, but he cannot be offended. He just curls up, spooning into Geralt with one arm thrown over him and falls asleep listening to the kitten purr.


	6. Sharing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 6: Sharing  
>  _This is— not good. As far as the unwise breaking of seals goes, they both know it could be worse. Considering the world at large. Considering just the two of them, well. At least they are alive._
> 
> I have to apologise, this is NOT a complete ficlet because I ran out of time. I will try to finish it, and will post it separately then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Info  
> two people sharing one body

'Can you shut up for _one minute_ , I can't hear myself think.' Geralt growls at Jaskier, and for once it works.

Right. This is— not good. As far as the unwise breaking of seals goes, they both know it could be worse. Considering the world at large. Considering just the two of them, well. At least they are alive. 

They also are stuck in the same body. 

Geralt is not a stranger to that, either. But with Vlodimir, he had known it would have an ending, and how. Here, who knows. 

'Will you stop being sorry for yourself and help me get us out of this cave?' Jaskier turns them around in a circle, looking for the way they came in. The sudden movement makes Geralt dizzy and he wrestles control from Jaskier. It makes them stumble and they sit down hard on the floor.

Jaskier tries for a dramatic gesture and Geralt tries to cross their arms. They end up slapping themselves before they slump against the cave wall. 

Jaskier's thoughts are bright and on the edge of a panic, but he keeps a death grip on it. Geralt appreciates it, this is hard enough even without Jaskier losing it. Slowly, he gets up again and walks over to their spare body.

Squatting down, he tries to pick it up. Sling it over his shoulder to carry it out the way they came. The heavy weight unbalances him and he lands in a heap, the body pinning him down.

'Do you never lift anything heavier than that lute?' Dragging them out from under his body, Geralt flexes Jaskier's muscles. It's not an encouraging experience.

'Excuse me for being an ordinary human being who cannot carry a witcher in full amour.' Jaskier rolls their eyes.

Speaking of which. 'Why the fuck is it so dark, did the torch go out?'

'No, Geralt.' Jaskier speaks slowly, stressing every syllable. 'This is how people _see_. Or rather, not see. The torch is right there.' 

'Fuck.' Geralt squats down and grabs himself under the arms, starts dragging himself across the cave. The small ledge they jumped back down on the way in stops him cold. It surely hadn't been that high on the way in?

In the end, they have to resort to making a harness out of rope, wrapping Geralt's body in it and dragging it up. The weight almost pulls Jaskier's body down into the cave again, but they manage. Jaskier sits them down to catch their breath.

'You know, Lambert is right. You really eat too well.' 

Geralt cannot even find the mental breath to disagree. And _maybe_ he could stand to use some weight. Now that he sees himself through Jaskier's eyes, there's a little paunch he never really noticed.

'I like it actually.' Jaskier smiles, and it feels nice. But it's still not a topic Geralt wishes to discuss while sharing a body. 

A lot of cursing and even more pauses to catch their breath finally bring them outside. In the end, it's easier to let Jaskier handle the carrying because he doesn't keep overestimating their strength. Of which they have not nearly as much as Geralt is used to, not to mention stamina. He is extremely glad he taught Roach to lie down on command. She eyes Jaskier for a second, but when Geralt takes over their voice and repeats the command, she obeys and they can get his body in the saddle.

'Where to now?' Jaskier cradles the lute in their arms and Geralt notices how much it calms him down, notices how Jaskier's thoughts stop racing and so does his pulse.

'Keira. She's not far.' Geralt tries to swing himself into the saddle and Roach does a nervous sidestep. Not to mention how tall she is suddenly. They only manage to keep their balance with an ungainly hop and a grasp at the saddle, both of them acting on instinct. It's like falling down stairs, only with their minds. They end up body upright, minds tangled and sprawled, and have to take a moment.

Jaskier is the first to recover and takes Roach's reins. 'Let's walk. I'm better at walking.' 

When they turn up on Keira's doorstep, she takes one look at them. "What _have_ you done now?"

Both of them try to answer, almost choking on their own spit. Jaskier's nervous gesture and Geralt's attempt to hold up his hands end up in a flail that knocks a bundle of dried herbs from a hook by the door.

'Geralt?' Keira squints at them, muttering a spell under her breath, and her eyes go wide. 'How?'

Jaskier takes a deep breath, even now ever ready to launch into an epos. Geralt is faster. 'Long story. Cursed item. Brought it with us. Please help us.'

Keira steps aside, still staring at them. 'Come in.'


	7. Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 7: Memory  
>  _Jaskier sits down heavily on the floor. It isn't an activity particularly recommended for a man of his age, and his joints protest. But he doesn't pay them any mind._  
>  _A silver wolf's head medallion._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Info:  
> Whump  
> major character deaths, all in the past

Jaskier sits down heavily on the floor. It isn't an activity particularly recommended for a man of his age, and his joints protest. But he doesn't pay them any mind.

A silver wolf's head medallion.

It isn't like he had ever forgotten Geralt. He never will. Even now, decades later, Jaskier thinks of him daily. Dreams of him, at times. 

It is just that he hasn't expected to come across the medallion. It had slipped his mind that it is there, like a great many things are prone to slip his mind these days. 

Wrapping the chain around his fingers, Jaskier lets the edges of the wolf's head bite into his palm. He had never thought that he would outlive Geralt, no matter how dangerous the Path, and how many outrageously risky adventures Geralt got involved in. He had always come back to Jaskier.

Over the years, they had lost many friends. Vesemir, killed in the attack on Kaer Morhen. Triss, assassinated by another sorceress. Eskel, beheaded in some gods forsaken town for the crime of being a witcher. Zoltan, beaten to death in Novigrad by a mob, along with other dwarves and halflings. Yen, killed by what rumours told Jaskier had been poison. Lambert, lost for years until Geralt had found his remains in a shallow grave outside the village he had died defending from a leshen.

Each death had left Geralt more silent, more withdrawn. The Continent had changed around them, and it had become a place for humans only. Some of this was owed to religion and superstition, some of it was just how much humans spread and left everyone else scrambling to adapt.

The elves had lost that fight a long time ago. Dwarves and halflings had held on a little longer, but they were a rare sight. You had to search for any of the Continent's famed monsters, especially everywhere Nilfgaard ruled. Most of the mages and sorceresses killed in one pogrom or other, weakened by fighting among themselves.

And eventually, Geralt had been the only witcher left.

Jaskier had done what he could to fight the loneliness. And for a time, it had worked. They had been happy together, as much as anyone could be in their place. Ciri had offered to take them away to another world, but they had both refused. This had been their home. Neither of them wanted to live anywhere else.

One year, Geralt had accepted a contract. He had not come back. Jaskier had ridden after him and had been told the fiend Geralt had been hired to kill had killed him instead. The people in the village had not been able to meet Jaskier's eyes. He had gone to look for the fiend and had found its massive rotting carcass. A clean kill. 

Jaskier had plied the village's grave digger with wine and money until the story had spilled out. Of the witcher who had come back to the village after nightfall, badly injured and begging for help. The nearest healer, two villages over, had refused to come. The witcher's potions had not been enough to heal him, and he had lain like dead. 

People hadn't wanted him there. Whispers had started about how unlucky it was to have a witcher die in the village. More whispers had started about witchers who had killed whole villages in a sudden rage. Eventually, the witcher had been gone and no one had asked any questions about him. Until Jaskier.

There had been a shallow grave on a clearing. 

Jaskier had stood over it, and had not cried. The grave digger had given him the medallion, and the swords. The villagers hadn't dared to sell those yet.

It has been a long time ago. 

It is like it only happened yesterday. And Jaskier cries, sitting on the floor in his study, surrounded by all the memories of better times.


End file.
